Bleeding Tears: I Didn’t Mean To
by Animemaniagirl
Summary: Told in Samara's POV as a child-like innocence, as she experiences the last events of her life before she is pushed down the well. One-shot.


"Bleeding Tears: I Didn't Mean To"

Written Sunday, November 21, 2004

Finished Sunday, November 21, 2004 10:12 p.m.

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Disclaimer: Ringu/The Ring does not belong to me. Do not use this fanfiction without my permission.

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Author's Note: After reading countless Samara stories, I thought I would give it a go to try and write one. Heh.

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The white room is so cold, so colorless I am scared of it. I am sitting in a chair with a man in front of me with a pen and paper. He's dressed in a white coat and asks me strange questions. Daddy brings me here because he says it's my fault that Mommy is sick. Mommy says she keeps seeing images in her head, and I can't ever see her. But I don't like this place. Everyday I have to be here. I hate it.

The man looks at my expectantly. He pulls out the pictures on paper that I made. He held one of them in front of me. "Tell me, Samara, how did you make this picture?"

"I … made it…" I say. "I made it."

"_How_ did you make it?"

"I saw it."

"I know you made it," the doctor says patiently. "But how did you see it? What made you draw this?"

I bit my lip. He doesn't understand. How am I supposed to make him understand? I am only so young, and I don't know how to explain it. I'm not like anyone else.

"I don't know," I said softly.

The doctor looks a bit frustrated. I've been here for over an hour with him asking me the same questions over and over. I always say the same answers. He regains his composure soon after. "There must be a way you made them. Pictures just aren't made without anyone making them."

"But they are," I tried to say. The images, I created them. They appear in my mind and they become real. That's how I made it. "They just are."

"What do you mean by that?" He questions me a little further.

"I see them, and they are there," I stated.

I watch as the doctor looked down at the paper in front of him and started writing something down. I don't know what he's writing, but I know it's not good. Daddy makes me go here because I made Mommy sick. But I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to.

"When can I go home?" I ask. "I want to be with Mommy."

"You will as soon as you get better, Samara," the doctor answers. "Your parents love you very much."

I frown. "Daddy doesn't love me, only Mommy."

"Why would you say something like that?"

"Daddy doesn't like me. Daddy says it's my fault Mommy is always having headaches," I paused. "Mommy loves me."

More scribbling on the paper in front of him. Did he think I was crazy? That I needed more help? I'm not crazy. I didn't mean to hurt Mommy. I see them, and they simply are there.

"That can't be true. Your father brought you here because you cares about you," he tried to make me believe. That wasn't true. He still didn't know.

I shook my head. "Daddy makes me come here so I'm not at home. Daddy wants to make me go away from Mommy so I don't make her sick."

"What makes me him think you hurt your mother?"

"Because I do," I said. "But I don't want to want it."  
"Want what?" The doctor inquired curiously.

"I don't want to hurt people."

"Of course not."

"But I do," I said again. The feeling was unimaginable in my head. It was beckoning me to make someone bleed, crack their bones, any injury possible. I shivered. The white dress I wore wasn't warm enough for me. The doctor stared at me in a confused way. "I don't want to, but I have to." I gazed up at him hopefully, pleadingly to help make it stop. Make the voices in head stop telling me to do things I don't want.

Instead I hear the slow continuous moving of his pen. Why won't he help me? Why does he only keep writing and writing?

When he stops, he stands up from his seat. "That will be all for today, Samara."

_Kill him_, the sly voice says in my head. _Make him suffer._

The want to not kill, but the urging to want to, what is that called? I remain motionless in my chair. I don't move an inch. If I do, I'll hurt him. I'll kill him. I can't stand to be here anymore.

"Samara?" I hear him, but my mind is somewhere else. The pictures, the images, they're everywhere.

Help me.

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The barn is so cold. Daddy makes me stay in the barn where the horses are. I don't like the horses. They're so big and scary. I wish they would go away. Why do I have to stay in here? Why can't I sleep in the house with Mommy?

_Because you're a bad girl,_ the voice tugs at me. _You made Mommy suffer._

"I'm a bad girl …" I murmur to myself. The horses make a low noise. I cringed. I'm so lonely without anyone. The kids at school don't like me. Daddy doesn't like me _or_ love me. They don't want to be near me. Only Mommy cares about me. But she's afraid of me, just like everyone else.

I can't even sleep in this place. There's no heat to keep me warm, and the hay is so itchy and fuzzy, how am I supposed to sleep on it? Daddy gave me a soft pillow and a small quilt, but I'm still so cold. It's a wonder how I haven't died from the lack of everything.

My eyes feel so tired, I've sat up awake for so long. Listening, watching, waiting for dawn. There have been many sleepless nights I thought I was going to stay up forever. Fear clutched at my heart, but I still waited. Waiting in silence, in agony and hope.

"Maybe if I could …" I mumble as I lay down on the pillow. " … rest for a little while … only for a little while …" My eyelids shut quickly, but I did not dream. Instead I saw something far more worse.

I was standing in a large meadow, white daises in my hands. They were very pretty. I turned around, and there was Mommy and Daddy. They stood nearby with happy expressions on their face. I smiled. They loved me after all. I ran towards them, and their arms were open for me, waiting for me. I was close to them, but as I reached them something else happened.

I was engulfed in dark shadows and red blood, battered rotting bodies and skeletons lay in a heap on the fine green grass. I looked in stunned shock at the two bloody bodies I was towering over.

"Mommy…? Daddy…?" I creaked out in a small voice. "What did I do…?"

The daises in my hands weren't the same anymore. Black as coal, I threw them aside. I glanced back at my parents' decomposed bodies, and gasped at the maggots crawling over them. I backed away slowly. But then there was blood on my hands. They trembled. Did I murder my own parents?

The sky wasn't bright and shiny anymore; it was a blank void of nothingness. The fresh liquid in my hands begun dripping onto my sheer white dress, it was stained with blood droplets.

No. Could I have done all this? Did I? I let out a piercing scream that echoed over and over.

My eyes snapped open. Sunlight filtered in from the cracks at the opening to the barn. It was morning, finally. I shuddered at the nightmare, but decided not to think about it anymore. I got up and pushed open the door a little. I shielded my eyes from the sun a little, but slowly adjusted to the brightness.

I walked outside towards the well. I sang quietly to myself as I did. Everything looked so wonderful, but I wasn't happy. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Didn't people know that? It was still early in the morning, as the sun at the horizon was only halfway up. The voices were still there too, but I ignored them. Maybe if I tried harder enough, they would disappear. Then I could be normal. Mommy wouldn't be afraid to be near me, Daddy would love me, and I would have friends; wouldn't I?

I felt a gentle hand being placed on my shoulder. I looked upwards. Mommy. She smiled at me wearily.

"The sky is very beautiful, isn't it?" She said, and I nodded. It was always beautiful. I turned back to studying to watch the sun.

But then suddenly I felt myself being pushed and smothered against a black plastic bag. I couldn't breathe. I felt it tighten against my face. Fear clutched at my heart. I don't understand why she's doing this. Why?

"You're all I ever wanted," she whispers in my ear and chokes on her own words.

My mind races, but they are cut short. A small push from behind me, and I am sent toppling into the well I had stood before. It hurts. My head hurts. I touch my forehead, and I only find blood trickling down. My legs feel so weak. Why, Mommy? Why? I tilt my head up at the opening of the well, and see her crying hysterically at the site of me. A glimmer of hope forms in me, that she'll help me out of here.

But it dies out when I see her walk away and come back pushing a large stone to cover the well. My breath caught in my throat. No. Please, no.

I watch the large stone slid and cover the well's opening, blocking out the sunlight but a ring of white light manages to shine through it.

The hope to be saved and get out of this well is ripped to pieces. Mommy pushed me down the well. She wanted me to die. She hates me like everyone else. The pain in my heart is unbearable. Mommy was the first and last person to hear me, see me. I know she loved me. So why did she purposely do this? So many questions loomed in my head.

My dress is already ruined in the water and sharp rocks that tore at it. Bruises cover my body. Broken bones that only make it worse. A bleeding cracked skull.

I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to Mommy, honestly. I didn't mean to make Daddy upset. All I wanted was to be loved.

"I didn't mean to," I cried out in a hoarse tone. "I didn't mean to!" My voice sounded so hollow. And they were the last words I said before I collapsed in tears. No one could hear me, I knew that for sure.

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Author's Note: Well … yeah … this is a different take on what I thought an child-like Samara would be thinking instead of an intelligent stoic Samara that's out for revenge. But I guess the child-like Samara in my version could transform into the vengeful Samara. I'm not sure if I'm writing a sequel, probably not. Sorry. R and R please! Arigatou!


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